


Animals

by Anonymous



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Anal Sex, Biting, Choking, Dubious Consent, Hate Sex, M/M, Not Exactly Safe or Sane, Read at Your Own Risk, Rough Sex, Switching, Unsafe Sadism, non-explicit consent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-14
Updated: 2018-11-14
Packaged: 2019-08-23 10:41:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16617410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: He doesn't like the tiefling.And he knows that the tiefling doesn't like him.The man is loud,unruly, in all manners and forms.He's far too bright, far too colorful, and he flaunts around like that thing inked into his neck.Yet he can't help the growing urge to sink his teeth into that swathe of marked skin. That unexplainable animalistic desire to feel the man's pulse under his lips and to wrap his fingers around his throat and just make him shut up for once.





	Animals

**Author's Note:**

> Song Inspiration: "Closer" by Nine Inch Nails
> 
> This kind of wavered on a lot of lines and there are certain things I wasn't sure whether to explicitly tag for or not. Thus read at your own risk. 
> 
> Keep in mind this is unhealthy behavior in many ways and an unhealthy thought pattern from the narrator as well. Characters views don't reflect my views, etc. etc. 
> 
> Just enjoy whatever this is I guess.

He doesn't like the tiefling. 

And he knows that the tiefling doesn't like him.

The man is loud, _unruly_ , in all manners and forms. 

He's far too bright, far too colorful, and he flaunts around like that thing inked into his neck. 

Yet he can't help the growing urge to sink his teeth into that swathe of marked skin. That unexplainable animalistic desire to feel the man's pulse under his lips and to wrap his fingers around his throat and just make him shut up for once. 

He knows the tiefling doesn't miss it. 

The way he stares at him.

There's a similar look in those blank reds, a heavy, drooping, slouching stare that speaks of a similar creature. 

They are both predators in this chase, neither prey, but they are wholly different beasts. 

Caleb is quiet, he is meek, he slips on his sheep's wool and hides the snarling thing under his skin from the other's who can't recognize the sharp gaze of something dangerous.

Mollymauk is bold, he is forward, he shoves himself into the spaces he wants to fit into and he doesn't ask for permission, smile wicked, teeth sharp and intent sharper. 

Caleb wants to make him ask. 

~~Beg. Plead. Cry. Whimper. Bleed.~~

He wants to make him kneel, tear those bright colors off of him, sunder that rainbow of fabric that hurts his head and violates his careful sensibilities. 

He doesn't get an opportunity to execute any of that and instead it is him being pinned to a wall. 

The man speaks to him of being careful of what he takes, to just skim some off the top, to be _clever_ about it and Caleb wants to snarl back at him, slam him into the wall and make him listen to him instead. 

He doesn't miss that dark flash in the other's eyes when he glances at them briefly, that restraint caging something truly primordial beneath the red. 

He wants to fight whatever that beast is in the other and _tame it._

It's when they return that night, when they're left alone to their own devices, when Nott isn't around, that he tries. 

The tiefling is waiting for him. 

His back is slammed into the door that clicks shut behind him, a mouth, hungry and consuming against his, fangs pulling against his lips and fingers digging into his sides. 

But he will not be bested by this creature. 

He shoves back at him, flips them until he's the one pinning the other against the door, a thigh slotted between the other’s, ratched high enough to make him uncomfortable.

He will not be controlled by this offensive rainbow of a man. 

Molly just chuckles, hot and breathy against his face, amused, like Caleb _isn't_ the one in control right now. He grinds his teeth, that animal under his sternum baring its own dripping fangs as well, and his fingers slip around the tiefling’s throat. 

He squeezes, relishes in the give of it, that intoxicating thrum of a pulse beneath his palms. Molly laughs, harder, claws digging into Caleb's wrists, but not pulling him off, not even trying. He just levels him with a knowing, heavy-eyed stare, lip lifting into a feral grin and Caleb is unsatisfied with it all. 

He wants to see him choke. 

He pushes, digs his fingers in until his arms are trembling and his teeth are creaking. The tiefling is gasping now, his tail snaking around Caleb's midsection, that small pinpoint indication of a pupil rolling wildly, dilated and blown wide and yet that manic grin is still there despite it all. 

“Shut up,” he snarls, the first words between them in this unspoken contract of dominance.

Molly just laughs, choking on it, lips turning a far deeper purple than they should be. 

“I said _shut up_ ,” he growls out, low and threatening, because he hates it, he hates that laughter and he wants it to stop. 

“Try..,” Molly manages to gasp out beneath his hands, “..harder.”

And there's a tail wrapping around his ankle and yanking and he releases that lavender throat, slamming into the floorboards with a surprised cough.

There's a form straddling him, fingers tangling into his hair and wrenching his head to the side, a hand lined in rings and frigid metal wrapping around his neck. 

“Good try, but now it's my turn,” Molly purrs, voice roughened with abuse, low and dangerous against his face, the hot breath of a wolf across a doe's hide.

Caleb grabs at him, pulls at that damning coat, tries to wrench him off, goes to rise, but he's slammed back down by that hand around his throat. The fingers twisted in his hair leave to caress his jaw, soft and far too reverent, and he snaps at them with the hollow click of teeth.

“You're quite the untamed thing aren't you?” 

Caleb just spits up at him, watches Molly flinch back when it strikes his cheek. A glistening spot of skin amongst dusky lavender. 

“Mm, I think I can change that,” Molly muses, swiping it off with a flick of his wrist and a slow smile. 

Caleb swings a fist at that damning smirk and Molly catches it, tsking, low and rumbling, trapping both of his hands in one fist over his head and leaning down to breath a low warning in his ear. 

“We can't have that now.” 

Molly bears his weight down on him, hips flush to his, heavy and heady, and it wasn't supposed to be like this. 

He will not be so easily dominated by this creature. 

He bucks, pulls at that vice grip on his wrists, gnashes his teeth and snarls up at him and those eyes just narrow and watch him struggle. 

“I've never had to deal with something like you before,” Molly croons, nosing against his throat, the pinpricks of canines dragging against his pulse, a sensation of flushed lips against flushed skin that sends his head reeling. 

“I don't think you are a dominating beast,”Molly breathes, pressed against him, arched over him, a hand firm against his sternum and wrists still caught in his grasp. 

“I think you tell yourself that,” the hand trails down his chest, fans over his stomach, claws hooking into the fabric, sinking into that soft and vulnerable underbelly he tries to hide from the others. 

“But I think you want to be controlled,” The grip leaves his wrists, but he doesn't move them, he just breathes into the inches of space between them, a mingling of breath, warm and tanged with an unconventional desire. 

“And not in a good way,” There's the sound of ripping fabric and he glances down to see that Molly has torn a strip from his shirt.

“In a vile way,” Molly chuckles, seizing the hands that haven't moved from above Caleb's head. 

“A disgusting, _pathetic_ way,” He purrs, twining that fabric around his wrists. 

“You want someone to treat you like an _animal._ ”

He ties it off and Caleb pulls against it, a low keen bunching in his throat at being caught. 

“Is that what you want?”

Those hands trail back down to his stomach-- 

“You want someone to show you that you're nothing?” 

Lifting his shirt, trailing over shivering, heated flesh, dipping along his hips and there's fingers undoing his belt, a hand slipping below the waist of it all, far lower than he should have let them venture.

“You want me to tell you that you're worthless?”

Fingers close around him and he whines, flexing against the bonds.

“You want me to show you?” 

He whimpers, needy, breathless, bucking up into that warm grip.

“Let me show you then.”

Lips are devouring his again and he lets them, the fingers around him twist, tighten, and he keens, spine arching beneath him. 

He maneuvers his wrists, feels a give in that strip of fabric, shimmies his thumb out and then his hand and the other and Molly is far too distracted by searching the cavern of his mouth to notice.

He pants against those lips, let's that hand work at him because there's an animalistic need caught in his gut, but when another hand drifts low again, works at his loose belt and pants, he growls, grabbing Molly’s horn and wrenching him off. 

That warmth leaves with him, but he doesn't care, he'll find it again. 

Molly tumbles to the side and he keeps his fingers gripped around that horn, wrestles him until the tiefling is the one caught beneath him, his face flushed and eyes wide, but smile satisfied under him.

“I'm impressed,” Molly purrs up at him. 

“Stop talking.” 

He closes his fingers around that throat again, his other hand drifting to the man's belt, fumbling with the buckle. 

“Do you think you can beat me?” The tiefling chuckles, grinding up into him. 

“Yes,” he pants back, because he can and _he will._

“I'm not so sure you understand the situation then.” 

And there's a hand wrapping around his wrist and he's tumbling off to the side. Molly rolls up on one elbow to meet him, grip firm, but Caleb is already swinging back, lip curled into a snarl. 

His knuckles connect with flesh and the crack of it against the other's face is indescribably appealing. Molly just laughs, head snapped to the side, blood spilling from a split lip, eyes wild and delighted. Molly yanks on that tether he still has on his wrist, sending him sprawling onto the ground.

He growls, feral and untamed, snapping up to his knees, wrenching out of the other's grip and lunging for him. Molly meets him halfway and they end up twisting and writhing on the ground, a snarling mess of instinct and rage.

There's claws raking across his skin, teeth sinking into him, fists pummeling him, and he doesn't hold back either as they tangle and spit and fight for some kind of understanding. 

The knowledge that neither is willing to surrender to the other any time soon heavy between them. 

He finally lands a grip on one of those horns again, yanks at them, slams Molly into the floorboards with it and he doesn't stop to think what this all must sound like to anyone outside of this room. 

Molly just chuckles out a strangled breath with each strike and it only stokes that fire trapped under Caleb's skin. 

He wants to make him _cry_ , he wants to wipe that smug grin off of his face, show him why the world isn't a happy place to be in all of those ways he knows how. 

Show him that being arrogant, and pompous, and an _asshole_ doesn't mean he can get whatever he wants.

“Why so angry?” Molly huffs out, merely amused when Caleb finally stops, his hand still wrapped around that jeweled horn. 

“Did daddy not love you enough?” Molly taunts, blood trickling from a split across his temple. 

There's a flare of red and he grabs both horns, cracking the tiefling’s skull back against the wood. 

“Did… mommy... not hug you enough?” The tiefling continues, fangs harsh in the low light.

He does it again, teeth bared. 

“Did… did…you…?” He's slurring now and Caleb can't help but grin down at a wolf's hunt well met, because maybe he's finally won. 

He misses the tail snaking around his leg, caught up in the thrill of that disoriented glaze in the other's eyes, in the heat of him trapped beneath him, in the intoxicating victory of it. He wants to sink his teeth into that heaving shoulder and--

He blinks and suddenly he's back under Molly, staring up into darkened eyes framed in trails of blood and bruises, lavender skin glistening with sweat and exertion and moonlight.

“That was... quite the entertaining little display…”, Molly pushes his hair back with one hand, the other curled under Caleb's jaw, huffing, satisfied little breaths of air that feel more like threats. 

“Don't think I've ever experienced anything like it,” There's a grin there, an amused one, tilted and as sharp as the one Caleb had moments ago when he thought he had been the winner here. 

“It was... _thrilling_ ,” Molly murmurs, leaning low, almost breathing the word past Caleb's own parted and panting lips, stained red and swollen. 

“Now, are we done pretending?” Molly tilts his head, searching for something like surrender. 

He wonders if he'll just fuck him on the floor like this.

Like some animal.

He's not sure if he'd be opposed to it anymore. 

There's hands fumbling at his clothing and he's helping them.

Quick, skittering fingers that work feverishly to remove the fabrics that trap him. And he's tearing at the other, shucking off the parts of that hated rainbow coat and tossing them to the side with a grimace. Peeling off the rest of the clothes that trap that scarred and inked tapestry of skin while hands tear at his own. 

He pushes up, shoves Molly off with a growl and lunges again, ripping at his belt, his scabbard, tearing it all off and throwing it to the side with a clatter of metal. He's flipped again, naked shoulders striking the floorboards, trapped beneath searching fingers and Molly scrabbles for Caleb’s own assortment of buckles, relieves him of the already undone belt, tossing it aside with the other discarded barriers. Molly's fangs are sharp and glinting in the spilling moonlight as he pulls down the last bits of cloth covering up pale freckled flesh. 

Caleb kicks at him because he won't be the only one left vulnerable here. He catches Molly in the sternum and topples over onto the other as soon as he falls, bearing down on him with more growling rumbles and he wonders if anyone can hear them trying to tear eachother apart like animals in here.

Molly just grins, that sharp, annoying, stupidly satisfied grin that Caleb hates more than anything and he pulls those dual patterned pants from him with a final ripping snarl. 

They aren't people anymore, they're sensations and urges, impulses that snap in their heads and drive them beneath the cover of darkness. 

They're two predators clawing at each other on the filthy floor of an inn because beds weren't made for what they are. 

Molly shoves him off and he lands on his hands and knees. The tiefling twists up in one fluid motion, kneeling behind him, fingers digging into his hips and Caleb swings back at him with an open fist that he easily catches. 

Molly leans over him, presses along the whole of his back and spine like a fire, fingers laced through his in the sick parody of everything this isn't as he presses it back into the floorboards under him.

“I win,” Molly snarls against his ear, pinching the curve of it between sharpened teeth until it bleeds.

There's a hand pressed between his shoulder blades, pushing him down. Those fingers that twined with his leaving, trailing up his bent arm, up to his chin, over his mouth, dipping past his lips and parted teeth. Heavy and pressing against his tongue and he whines when they push and hook as far back as they can go. He swipes at them, the tang of sweat and blood on them a calling to that prowling thing under his skin and he needs more of it.

They draw back, a trail of glittering slobber still connecting them before it snaps and he gnashes his teeth again, pushing against that hand and the weight holding him down. The fingers pressed against his spine flex, like he's some beast that needs to be soothed into obedience, and he squirms under that warmth curled over his back. Bites down on that frustration when there's a breath of hot air against his skin in the form of an amused laugh. 

There's a finger pressing into him and he whines, low and strangled, spit the only aid they have here because neither of the animals in them care if it hurts, just that it feels like _something._

He trembles, shoving at the floorboards, nails scrabbling and hooking into the wood grain beneath him and Molly just shushes him. The hand pinning him down, bending him over, trapping him, smoothing along the raised knobs of his spine.

Soon enough it's something else and Caleb struggles anew, hooking nails into whatever expanses of flesh he can find smothering him from above, eliciting a shivering moan from Molly when he catches skin.

The curl of blood in the air is intoxicating, sweat slicked between them, and muscles trembling and Caleb still wants to make him kneel, but there's fingers spanning the back of his skull, pulling him up by his hair, baring his throat, and then slamming him back down.

He sees stars, gasps and lists, limbs collapsing but an arm curls under his chest, claws hooked into his sternum, keeping him steady. 

Molly settles into him slowly, agonizingly, and he digs at the ground, his own skin, the other's, lavender fingers sliding back into his mouth and distorting the strangled keening cry trying to leave him. Then it's all an uncaring tilt, Molly sits flush for only a fraction and sets up a pace that can only be called feral.

Molly wraps fingers around his throat, presses the other digits further into his mouth, searches with them until he's gagging on them, spitting up bile, drool trailing down his chin and slicking his abused lips. He moans around those fingers, shuddering, broken, needy as he chokes on them again and a burn shatters up his spine with each snap of hips against his own.

Molly rocks into him, _ruts,_ harsh, unforgiving sloppy and raw, hitching and desperate, breathes against his neck, his shoulder, teeth dragging across his skin until they sink in and pull and Caleb gasps against the impromptu muzzle shoved between his lips. Claws tearing into the soft flesh of his tongue, blood welling past the corner of his mouth and dripping onto the ground with everything else. 

There's a hand around him, the one that had hooked nails into his sternum and stomach before venturing lower. Calloused and rough and unloving but he falls into it, stutters against it, ruts against it in tandem and hunts for something in its grasp.

Molly chuckles at his desperation, the rumble all consuming against his back and Caleb wants to tear it out of him. 

He bucks, slamming an elbow back, a satisfied growl leaving him at the sound of it connecting and the tiefling yelps, slipping out of him and falling to the side. Caleb snatches his flailing wrist and snarls down at him, feral and undone. Spittle dripping from his lips, blood coating his teeth, and he wants more of it. 

He wraps his hands under the man's knees, bends him nearly in half, hooks his legs over his shoulders and stares down that manic grin, sinking into a heat that _hurts_. No preparation or slick to aid him and he doesn't care because there's finally a flicker in that facade, a scrunch at the edges of the other's eyes that he chases. 

He rolls his hips into him, eats up that pained, answering whimper with his own lips. Rumbles low and content in his chest at the bleed of fear from the other, even as it turns needy, sharp teeth tearing at his mouth, blood slicked between them in more ways than one. 

Molly keens, arching, hands scrabbling at his back, dragging furrows into him that ignite and weep and he wraps a hand around that begging throat, the tiefling’s head tossed back, eyes to the ceiling in an open mouthed and pleading prayer. He tightens his fingers along it, relishes in the way he chokes, encompassed in that spasming bleeding muscle, latches onto that tattoo along his jaw with hungry lips and teeth, grunts and huffs and chases something with the snap of his hips into the other. 

Molly’s ankles hook behind him and he's thrown to the side, toppling off and out of the tiefling that rolls with his momentum, flipping him so he's face down, pinning him, flushed, aching and bloody against the harsh grain of wood. 

He pulls at the hands on his wrists, strains against them, keens, low and long into the dark, when Molly is delving back into him instead. His wrists relinquished, hips lifted, legs propped beneath him, bent down at an angle the other prefers. His knees raw against the floorboards, spine curved, and throat caught with a thousand breathy needles.

It's unmerciful, it's brutal, it's growls, moans, and grunts above him. Nothing loving or even lustful, just power and dominance and two predators meeting in the night with no prey except each other to feast on.

A hand spans the side of his face, presses his cheek into the wood until he sees nothing but colors that aren't there and he bites at it, catches a digit between his teeth , relishes in the spill of blood across his tongue. The hand wrenches back to fist into his hair instead, bleeding hot and warm against his scalp. 

It's all broken and jerky, stilted, and frantic, curses breathed into his back and teeth latched into his neck, the junction of his shoulder, and he whines because there's something in him that's striking and and building into an inferno that crawls across his skin with each thrust.

Molly wraps his arms under his chest, hooking his claws into his shoulders and pressing him into the floor, frantically rutting into him until Caleb’s scrabbling desperately at the floorboards, eyes hot and welling with an unexplainable heat in his gut and hands searching for anything, for something. The friction sliding against his front not enough, not what he wants, not what he _needs._

The tiefling shudders with a snarl, more feral, ripping, and choked than all the others that have left him as he snaps into Caleb one last time, continuing through it with a jerky metronomic stutter until he's panting and listing across his back.

There's that bleeding warmth inside of him that is everything but satisfying, his own conquest still unfound, Molly all but collapsed over him, and he pushes against the floor with trembling seeking palms, throws off that flushed dead weight and wrenches him under him again.

He thrusts back into that pliable warmth, fantasizes about smashing that lazy vacant grin beneath his fists, breaking every bone in his body and turning him into something bloody and ruined beneath him. 

There's a wildfire coiling under his stomach and his abdomen and far, far deeper than that. An uncontrollable fire that has him panting and desperate against the other's skin. Frenzied, frantic, lost to finding his completion in this ruinous act, this twisted parody of love and sex and intimacy that is anything but. 

He growls, snarls, an animal tearing apart his chest, its teeth sharp and bared and lusting, greedy for the give of flesh beneath its teeth and a carnal hymn. He satiates it, pleases that beast by sinking his teeth into the junction of the other's neck, the spongy give of muscle and sinew curdling in him, flaring white hot in his skull and gut and he collapses into it.

Fingers digging into whatever expanse of flesh he can find as he shatters and falls apart within the other. Collapsing against skin as slick with blood and sweat as his own, hitching into that heat quivering around him, a choked cry like a strangled, aborted, triumphant howl spilling from his bloodied lips. Trembling, quaking, heaving and panting hot huffs of air against shivering flesh that he drives into one last time with a snarl that spills over into a final thready, animal whine. 

A warmth curls up to rest beneath his sternum, nails gouged into grime slick wood to either side of bejeweled horns and lavender hair, stuck and slotted in this searing, blissful heat of another that always rips him apart into a gasping, slobbering, husk of a man.

The tiefling beneath him shudders and he thinks maybe it's a quiet laugh, but he's far too gone, spent, tired, and a hunger in him finally sated, to care anymore. 

They do not hold each other, there is no comfort here, he peels himself off of lavender skin and the mingle of drying sin between them.

The air is heady, tanged, bled with the evidence of something primal, and animal, and inhuman. 

They part ways as predators do, off to find a more satisfying prey than each other. 

Satiated for now, but never full. 

 

 

\--------------

 

“So…,” Fjord begins the next day, in the belly of the tavern, eyeing both of them with a confused frown, “Uh…” 

“Why do both of you look like you were attacked by wild fucking animals?” Beau finishes for him.

Caleb meets Molly's gaze across the table, the tiefling smirking at him and he just grimaces back, eyes narrowed. 

_‘Wild fucking animals’_ indeed.


End file.
